


Layover

by jadziadrgnrdr



Category: Doctor Who (2005), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadziadrgnrdr/pseuds/jadziadrgnrdr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik is a young worldwide bestselling author who needs to get out of the city and get serious about writing his second book. He decides to rent a little cottage in the semi-secluded village of Cheshire figuring there won’t be any distractions. </p><p>This is until a space and time traveling alien crashes into his backyard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veilofsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veilofsmile/gifts).



> The prompt was alien Harry crash landing in Zayn's backyard. I changed details but this story follows that prompt.
> 
> This is a Doctor Who AU. You do not need to know anything about that verse to read this story. There are some clickable context cues along the way just in case!

Zayn was always small for his age, but what he lacked in height and heft he more than made up for in noise and commotion. His mother was concerned so she asked the doctor about it.

“He just started singing at 3 in the morning out of nowhere! At the top of his voice! Who does that?” She implored. After a moment she continued in a lower register. “Should I be… _concerned_ for him? Why on earth does he do things like this?” 

“Mrs. Malik, as children grow, they often test boundaries and seek attention. It’s nothing to be worried about. Your boy is fine.” A moment later, Trisha realized Zayn was being too quiet but the thought came too late. because a moment after that, there was a loud crash and the room filled with the chemical smell of alcohol. When she and the doctor looked over, the doctor’s instruments were splayed on the floor, mingled with large jagged chunks of glass in a pool of disinfecting solution. 

“Sorry, ammi,” Zayn said softly from the midst of it, eyes big and solemn, face heated and red. He only ever called her that when he knew he was about to be scolded. Trisha knew this but still gathered him up in her arms and kissed his face. She set her little man in the crook of her elbow, regarded him with a fond weariness, and rubbed her hand over his head and down his cheek. 

“It’s okay, Zayn,” she sighed. The doctor was busy calling maintenance with his back to them, standing more rigidly than he had before Zayn had happened to his exam room. It was hard for little Zayn to be still and not let his curiosity push him to touch and climb and try whatever popped into his mind. 

 

Just about the only time he was quiet and free of the casual calamity that was typical of his presence was when he’d sit, lotus-style, on the armrest of his father's well-worn, overstuffed chair, listening to him tell tales of a most extraordinary man – if one could call him a man at all.

“He goes by [the Doctor](http://tardis.wikia.com/wiki/The_Doctor), Zayn, and he travels all over the world getting into adventure after adventure. He’s lived for so very long. He’s ancient, Zayn. There are some that think his name is a title passed down to the son, but those of us who really follow the clues know he’s just one man, one man from beyond the stars,” Yaser would say in reverent hushed tones. Zayn couldn’t get enough of the stories. He asked questions and listened intently for the answers. Sometimes Yaser would draw pictures of the man and his [odd blue box of a spaceship](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TARDIS) and let Zayn color them. 

One of Yaser’s friends, Uncle Clive, would come by, excitedly sharing all of his new findings. They met online but Clive didn’t live too far from Zayn’s family, so he would come over regularly. He ran a site, www.whoisdoctorwho.co.uk, and Yaser helped when he could. 

“Don’t go filling the boy’s head up with fanciful tales about the Doctor, Yaser. He’s dangerous!” Clive would warn. Yaser would smile warmly and chide Clive about being so portentous. 

One day, Yaser came home more excited than Zayn had ever seen him. He was older, still fairly small for his age, but not small enough to perch atop his father’s chair anymore. The stories were still of interest to Zayn and he had even started helping with the website. 

Going to school had calmed him down considerably. Instead of being so outwardly busy all of the time, he started cultivating a rich interior world. He loved to read, write, play video games and paint. He even got into fashion a bit and started experimenting with his looks once puberty hit. Ultimately though, he was still a dreamer, so when Yaser comes barreling into the house lit up like a like the Tower of London, Zayn has his undivided attention. 

“Zayn, you have to hear this. I got it emailed to me from an anonymous source.” It turns out to be a short mp3 that needed to be uploaded to the site immediately. 

“What is it, Pop?” Zayn asked after listening for a few moments.

"It’s the TARDIS’s engines! You hear that, Zayn? You hear that sound and you perk up! Pay attention because something extraordinary is about to happen." [Zayn did listen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gf1X7yMFf8) There was a _vworp vworp_ noise and the groan of metal grinding against metal. On the surface it should be unpleasant, but something about it was as soothing and natural as a heartbeat. Even more curious was what happened when his father went to upload it; for no reason that either of them could see, the file developed multiple errors. They worked to fix them and retrieve the file for hours, but it was no use; the file was irreparably corrupted. 

“Well, Zayn, looks like the TARDIS doesn’t want to share its song,” he said sadly. Zayn had never seen his father look so discouraged. They spent the rest of the night doing routine maintenance on the site, Zayn retelling some of his favorite Doctor tales back to his father to cheer him up a bit.

★★★★★★★★★

Zayn was in the kitchen making a sandwich when he heard his father on the phone in the living room.

“Clive, you old buzzard!” Yaser yelled down the phone. “Wait, slow down, Jessica what do you…A mannequin attack? What!? I don’t…I see. I’ll be right there.” Zayn came out of the kitchen then. 

“Pop is everything okay? What did Mrs. Finch want? What’s wrong with Mr. Finch?” Yaser looked down at Zayn, but he was a thousand miles away. 

“You just…you stay here and take care of your mum and sisters. You promise?” He asked gravely. 

“Y-y-yes, sir.” 

 

Clive’s funeral was bit of a to-do. Many of his internet friends that he’d had for years were in attendance, along with the people from his life. He was well regarded if the turnout and mourner speeches were anything to go by. The official word was that a street gang got high and dressed up as store mannequins to attack the city. 

Yaser knew that it wasn’t anyone dressed as anything. He also knew that dabbling in ‘what’s out there’ did not keep you safe, that it might even put you in harm’s way. He said as much to Zayn when they returned home from the funeral. Zayn knew better than to interject even though he wanted to, knew his father was speaking more out of grief and fear than good, solid reasoning, but there was nothing more important to Yaser than keeping his family safe. If Zayn understood nothing else about his father, he understood that. Besides, he’d heard Mrs. Finch’s tone when she’d been talking to Yaser at the repass earlier. 

_”You were right all along. I never believed, but there are things out there, Yaser, terrible things! He knew. Now he’s dead.”_

After that Yaser stopped talking about the Doctor and aliens, shut down the website, and never mentioned any of it again.


	2. Chapter 2

The white Bentley Continental glides to a stop right in front of a twisty cobblestone walkway that leads up to the crimson door of the cottage Zayn’s rented out for the next four months. 

“This is…quaint.” Caroline says, easing her dainty foot off of the accelerator and pressing home the break. Zayn laughs until it doubles him over. 

“Respect my process, Caroline!” he yells.

“What, love? I was just commenting on how charming this whole little setup is.” She always sounds her most sincere when she is clearly taking the piss. 

“Well, then, why did you say the word ‘quaint’ like someone passing judgment?” Zayn asks, still tickled and more than a little giddy to finally be here. 

Caroline had just raised one immaculately threaded eyebrow when he first mentioned his plan, and, after he’d made the arrangements, had gently asked him if he was sure maybe twenty five times.

“What did I say about projecting?” she sing-songs then swans out of the drivers seat and heads to the boot of the car. Zayn joins her and redirects her gaze from the suitcase in the back to the tidy little (quaint) cottage before them. 

“Just think of it, Car, no wifi or Xbox to distract me, rolling meadows all around to open my mind up…” 

“I’m more concerned about the plastic bags of rolling meadow I know you stashed at the bottom of your suitcase to ‘open your mind up’,” she mutters. Zayn pulls a goony face at her and continues. 

“No distractions, Caroline. That’s what this place represents. Just me and my laptop and my words. You should be jumping for joy.” Caroline makes a little considering noise. 

“Look, I support you getting down to business, love. Lord knows I did not like collecting you from Shahid’s little man cave every other day, but if you get ravaged by a horror film monster, I don’t get my 10% and little Brook might have to settle for her backup uni,” she says with a faux-sad little tilt to her features. Zayn barks another laugh.

“You are terrible. Every bit of you!” Zayn says affectionately. “Come on and check out my new digs,” he says with an impish grin, poking her sharply in both sides. She jumps and swats at him, but he’s already looped around her and leading the way inside.

 

The idea had come to Zayn suddenly while he was painting a canvas in his art room. Weeks of writer’s block had led to an anxiety he couldn’t shake. All of his books were pristinely organized, he’d installed a new banister in his flat, and he had three huge paintings completed with buyers sniffing around for all of them. These were all good things. 

What wasn’t so good was that instead of all of that, he was supposed to be writing a follow up to his record-smashing, international best-selling debut novel, _The Empty_. He was the wunderkind that won the Booker Prize despite not being educated at Cambridge or Oxford, despite being a baby at 24 years old, and despite not being white. 

He was the media darling who shyly did interviews where the presenters spent at least a quarter of the time remarking on how much more he resembled a rock star than a novelist. The book wasn’t, strictly speaking, a YA novel, but Caroline had a keen mind for marketing. She booked signings and readings not only in the Barnes & Nobles, but also in the off-the-beaten-path cafes that were frequented by the young and the hip. His work wasn’t just respected, it was cool. 

He had a lot to prove, and no one on the planet earth would let him forget it for even a moment. Even Caroline, who had taken a chance on him based on his amateurish query letter, and who treated him more like a little brother than a client, reminded him of his obligation to produce. She didn’t pressure him at all. She was very loving, even provided a lap where he could lay his head when he needed to escape the world for a little while. Her mere presence was reminder enough. He needed to make her proud and provide for his beautiful goddaughter Brooklyn. 

He sees that most of his things, including a full steamer trunk of his books and vinyl, had been delivered to the house already, so he takes Caroline by the hand and shows her all the old English nooks and crannies of the house including a back garden with stone seating area under an ornate little canopy. There was a tool shed in the corner and almost anachronistic lighting columns placed strategically all around. 

They grill veggies and lamb on the large brick barbecue and make kebabs. Caroline had included Zayn’s favorite wine during her grocery run before she picked him up to bring him here. As Zayn drowsily regards the full moon and the surrounding ocean of stars on a full stomach and half a bottle of wine, he thinks about what a great decision it was to come here. He was uninspired in London and stifled (lovingly) in Bradford. This was where true authorship would happen, this little house in Cheshire. 

He should name it - Malik's Manor maybe? Oh! Or maybe he’d name it a man’s name that he’d thank on the opening pages of his new opus, set everyone’s tongues to wagging. He titters to himself at the thought. Eventually, he and Caroline call it a night and head back into the house together. After he makes sure she’s all settled in her guest room, he pads exhausted and happy into the master bedroom and falls asleep smiling. 

When he wakes up the next morning, he still feels pretty good, doesn’t even grumble his way through his morning calisthenics routine. Caroline helps him set up the kitchen and together they cook a big breakfast before she heads back to London and her family. Zayn takes his tea in the garden to enjoy the beauty and the quiet. Yes, shedding the weight of city living was exactly what he needed. He almost wants to scoff at how naïve he was to think he could ever get anything done amidst all the distractions of the city. 

Three weeks pass where nothing at all happens.

Sure, Zayn unpacks his boxes and bags. He puts his books and records on the ample shelf space. He color coordinates his drawers and closets, arranges his cosmetics and toiletries just so, orders from the local mercantile when his initial groceries run out, and learns to get creative with the spices and assorted chutneys his mother made for him especially for this journey. What he doesn’t do is write. 

He lies to Caroline when she calls to check up on him weekly. He can tell she’s not buying his “Oh it’s going surprisingly well!” and “I feel like I’m really hitting a turning point. Can’t wait for you to read what I have so far!” Zayn hasn’t fully given over to panic just yet but he’s certainly alarm-adjacent. He’s nearly ¼ of the way through his sabbatical and technically he can extend it if he really has to, but he doesn’t want to. He promised himself he would at least have a weak first draft and a strong outline by the time he returned home.

★★★★★★★★★

On the eve of his one month-versary at the cottage, the ‘nothing’ comes to a dramatic halt. Zayn is listening to his _I Feel For You_ vinyl (Chaka Khan’s best album outside of _Rufus_ , if Zayn is honest). while playing the Pac Man emulator he smuggled into his luggage last minute when he heard it. It wasn’t just a sound though. Zayn could feel it on the back of his neck where the hairs were starting to stand up. He could even smell it, and it smelled like his father’s spicy after-shave that he’s worn every day for as long as Zayn can remember.

He runs to the back windows in just enough time to see a familiar blue box attempting to pulse into view. Something was wrong. The noise was off and it was flickering in and out of existence all over the yard as if struggling to gain purchase on the world. The bits of engine that sound like metal scraping are even more shrill and grinding. Finally the TARDIS becomes solid in the back corner. Unfortunately, it crushes the tool shed in the process. 

Zayn stumbles outside barefoot, his mouth hanging open. He approaches the front door. There is a faint smell of electronics burning but the box itself doesn’t seem to be giving off any heat, which surprises Zayn. He gets closer and suddenly the door is wrenched open. Zayn startles back.

A beautiful, wild-eyed, tousle haired man stumbles out, looking distracted. He immediately begins inspecting the state of the box wedged as it is through the side of the tool shed. It’s emitting a low mournful hum. 

“Well, this is a right de ja vu, innit?” he remarks to himself softly. 

“I… pardon?” Zayn says. 

“Oh hello!” He notices Zayn and smiles brightly, deep dimples giving him a near toddler-like charm. Zayn can’t help himself so he smiles back and even laughs a little. This simply cannot be happening. Zayn had given up on fanciful tales of The Doctor long ago. His visitor turns back to his box.

“Shhh shhh it’s alright sweetheart.” The man (boy?) (the Doctor?) croons softly to its side while petting it more like an injured beast than a machine. “Not that bad,” he mutters. Then he bends down, picks up a pinch of dirt displaced by the crash, throws his head back and sprinkles a bit on his tongue, makes a face then spits it out. “Yes, not bad at all. Nothing like the last time.” He stops muttering and turns back toward Zayn. He walks right up to him and peers down at him with what looks to be a guarded hopefulness. 

“And who are you then?” he asks softly. Something about his honey bourbon voice makes Zayn forget his own name for a split second. 

“Er, Zayn…Zayn Malik,” he says, offering his hand for a shake. The Doctor (???) looks down at it in confusion for a moment before taking Zayn’s hand into both of his and just holding on. 

“Zayn Malik,” he repeats, hitting the k sound hard and just staring down into Zayn’s eyes. “That’s a brilliant name.” 

“Thank you,” Zayn stutters. “… Doctor?” 

“Yes! You know me? That’s … brilliant as well,” The Doctor responds with another face-splitting smile. 

Zayn has so many questions crowding into his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, but at that moment a klaxon sounds, snatching the Doctor’s attention.

“Oh dear… let me. I’ll just be a moment, Zayn Malik,” he says as he rushes back into the TARDIS and slams the door. A moment later the TARDIS begins to dematerialize, displacing all the air around it. 

“No…” Zayn says faintly. It’s too late, though; the Doctor is gone, almost as soon as he’d come. Zayn doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. As he’s debating this in his mind the door to the cottage opens behind him. Zayn jumps and turns around to see the Doctor poking out of the door. 

“Yes, um, I’m in here now… so you should…” he says, pointing back over his shoulder, then heads back into Zayn’s little getaway, where there weren’t supposed to be any distractions. After several moments of staring stunned at the opened door, Zayn follows him back inside.

The TARDIS is nestled into the far corner. It’s stopped making pained noises and it looks undamaged, but now it just seems inert, which seens even worse. 

“She’s repairing herself,” the Doctor says from off to Zayn’s right. Zayn jumps again. He’s never been the skittish sort and he has no intention of becoming that now, so he takes a deep breath and resolves to calm down. 

“What happened? Why’d you crash? That’s what that was back there, yeah?” 

“Yes, but a minor crash. Just a little rusty is all. Think I over-primed the temporal dampening reconstitutor or summat. An embarrassing error to be sure, but not too bad.” 

“Tell that to the shed you flattened,” Zayn says, his sarcasm kicking in despite how in awe he is. The Doctor lets out a funny little laugh at that and Zayn giggles in response. 

“Touché, Zayn Malik! I vow to you by the twin moons of Zarn, I will fix your shed before I leave.” He then starts to curtsy but changes midstream and goes for a deep bow, looking up at Zayn through his eyelashes. Zayn feels warm all of a sudden. Is the Doctor flirting with him? That seems highly unlikely. 

“The last time I obliterated a shed in someone’s backyard it was because I fell out of the time vortex altogether. Went careening into the night, almost lost my willy on Big Ben, landed ass over tea kettle! … Bloody hell that was ages ago….Learned my lesson sure enough! No more epic strops during regeneration!” the Doctor makes a big wet, spitty explosion noise with his mouth and accompanies it with a hand flail.

“Sounds like a story,” Zayn says chuckling, and still not fully believing this is happening to him right now. Still, Zayn has always been a sucker for a good yarn. He has his father to thank for that. His father! For a brief moment he wants to call him on his mobile and tell him, _“Pop, you’ll never guess who literally just landed in my backyard.”_ He gets a sudden flash of his father throwing all their Doctor research and art work into the bin back behind the house with fierce determination and that idea dies as quickly as it was born. 

“Yes, there is a story, but an old one. What’s your story Zayn Malik?” the Doctor is still using the tone of a bloke on the pull and that actually helps keep this completely overwhelming situation in check in Zayn’s mind. “Why do you know me?” he continues.

“Well… I’ve known of you since I was a kid. Part of me always thought you were a fairy story I think, but most of me always believed. And hell, here you are!” 

“Here I am indeed,” the Doctor grins then sniffs the air a bit. “Early 21st century yes?” Zayn nods. 

“May, 2017,” he clarifies.

Outside in the moonlight Zayn could tell he was lovely but with the warm splash of lamp light Zayn is ready to upgrade that to exquisite. His mouth is full and gorgeous. His hair isn’t just artfully tousled, it’s curly. The shirt he wears hasn’t been tattered in the accident; no, he’s just started the buttons at his navel. 

“Is that… Is that a tattoo?!” Zayn asks. How had he not realized it before? He walks right up to the Doctor and just before he reaches out to touch, he stops himself. The Doctor takes the last step forward until his skin is just under Zayn’s fingertips. 

“It’s a Lezexian mind imprint. Neat, yeah?" The Doctor undoes his shirt completely and drops it to the floor, offering his left arm up for inspection. Zayn’s breath catches but he’s a trooper so he doesn’t’ let it show too much. “The monks there have taken a vow of silence and abstinence, don't even hug or a touch each other people really. The channel all of their energies into creating these mind pictures and searing them onto the skin. Takes them years of study and meditation.” Zayn is still running his hands over the Doctor’s imprints. Many are objects he’s never seen before or random shapes. Some look like the scribbling of a child. Zayn notices a bit of a pattern in what he does recognize. 

“Butterflies in your stomach?” the Doctor’s smirks. “A birdcage over your ribcage?” Zayn really doesn’t have to run his hands all over the Doctor’s skin for this inspection, but he does it anyway and the Doctor doesn’t seem to object at all. In fact he takes both of Zayn’s hands and notes his ‘etchings’ as well. 

“These are really beautiful, Zayn Malik,” he says softly. 

“Thank you, they’re boring old needle and ink but I like them…. And so are yours. Quirky… but beautiful,” Zayn says. 

“Thank you.” Neither one of them has stopped touching, nor backed away. “How fortunate I am to have found myself in the presence of someone who’s heard of me. I usually don’t mind the whole song and dance of disbelief and whatnot but it’s been a long day and I’m rather knackered.” Then he laughs. 

“Well, nowadays, it wouldn’t be too hard for you to find someone who has some knowledge of you even though lots of people think of you as a legend like Santa Claus. Once you popped out of a disappearing and reappearing box, that would have settled that though. People pretty much know of you now.” 

“Really?” The Doctor says fascinated. “And by people you mean…?” 

“Everyone! Well, not actually everyone. You’ve caught on for sure though,” Zayn answers. 

“But you lot never retain anything about me. From what I can remember you always kind of hand-wave over it and make up some explanation that makes sense to you.” Harry looks thunderstruck. Zayn laughs. 

“Yeah, well, I guess you can only do that so long before the persistent threat of aggressive aliens and the champion that always manages to beat them back starts to become something that some folks might start to believe. Hell, for a while there I don’t think there was a normal Christmas on earth.” Zayn thinks about his father again and the irony that he knew about the Doctor many years before he had spread into the mainstream. Now he finds talk of the Doctor uncomfortable. He’s quick to shut down conversations about him almost like he’s afraid the mere mention of him might bring about some disaster.

“Blimey,” The Doctor says. 

“Look, I’d show you but we’re kind of cut off from Wi-Fi out here,” Zayn says. 

“Do you have a computer?” 

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have…” Zayn stops talking abruptly when the Doctor moves away from him, locates his laptop charging on the couch, and goes to pick it up. He pulls out a device and starts waving it around at the laptop and then points it to the window and waves it about some more.

“Is that your sonic wand?” Zayn asks, feeling a bit like a kid again on his father’s armchair. 

“Screwdriver,” the Doctor corrects. 

“What?”

“Sonic screwdriver,” 

“A sonic _screwdriver?_ ” Zayn says, halfway thinking the Doctor is taking the piss.

“A wand?! Really?” The Doctor teases. They both laugh

“Alright, alright,” Zayn concedes, putting his hands up. There are a few more moments of the Doctor negotiating between the laptop and what Zayn can only imagine is a satellite in orbit before he startles Zayn with a wordless shout of achievement. 

The Doctor sits on the couch and surfs rapidly through all the assorted information on him that exists. 

“Rubbish. Rubbish. Not even a hint of truth. How did they find out about that? Oi! Oh that’s rather funny. Well, I hardly think I should be judged over _that_! Well, that’s quite vulgar….” It’s far too fast for Zayn’s eyes to track so he’s content to leave the Doctor to it. 

Zayn asks the Doctor if he wants a cup of tea, and he pauses his web browsing long enough to answer in the affirmative and call him a saint. Zayn appreciates the time he has in the kitchen to process everything. He makes a few smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches with the tea. When he returns, the Doctor is sitting with his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in front of his contemplative face. Zayn sets the tray on the coffee table. 

“Have you reached the end of the internet?” Zayn jokes.

“Yes,” the Doctor responds. Zayn actually pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. 

“Damn.”

“Indeed,” the Doctor says darkly. “I've gone....mainstream.”

“And I can tell from your hipster alien sensibilities that that’s really bad,” Zayn says mock seriously. Harry eyeballs him, clearly understanding he’s being made fun of even if he doesn’t exactly get the joke. 

“I’m sorry, man! You’re legendary. Deal with it.” Zayn takes a happy bite of sandwich and leans back with his mug of tea. The Doctor sits beside him positively pouting. He takes several sugar cubes and dumps them into this tea. He then pours a healthy dollop of cream into the mug and stirs. All of that cream and sugar in tea seems nauseating to Zayn, so he makes a face. 

“There is a diner in Canterbury with a shoddy replica of my ship outside the door.” The Doctor laments. 

“Oh yes I’ve eaten there. Totally overpriced. Nice desserts though,” Zayn comments. The Doctor makes an affronted noise and looks at Zayn like he’s been betrayed. 

“They call themselves the Tartus Grille, Zayn! That literally makes no sense. It's TARDIS!  
T-A-R-D-I-S, **T** ime **A** nd **R** elative **D** imension **I** n **S** pace, not time and relative whatever the hell you want it to be.” The Doctor takes a swig of his tea, burns his mouth and makes an angry cat face. Zayn is proud of himself for not doubling over in laughter. He really _is_ a saint.

“Some bloke in America copyrighted that. They're planning a theme park I believe so people have to use alternatives.” The Doctor looks over at him incredulously. Zayn shrugs sympathetically and takes another bite of sandwich. 

“Bloody Americans,” The Doctor says heavily, sitting back and starting in on his own sandwich with a vicious bite. 

“Yeah, tell me about it, mate.”


	3. Chapter 3

Living with an alien isn’t so bad.

The internet stays, which is both a curse and a blessing. Of course, it’s not as distracting as having a handsy, super curious houseguest who makes it through three shelves of books in a little over a day and soups up the TV so that they have every channel on the planet. True to his word, the Doctor fixes the shed. It's enthralling to watch as he uses his sonic screwdriver on the damaged boards, unsplintering them until they became whole again before Zayn's eyes like a magic trick. He also has to add in some planks from the firewood pile. The Doctor brags to Zayn about how he programmed a wood subroutine into the resonance protocol processor after centuries of going without one. Zayn nods politely like he knows what any of those words mean. 

On the third day the Doctor announces he no longer wants to be called the Doctor. 

“There was a time where I could just swan about wherever I like, but now, _now_ with you clever humans all awakened to my exploits there’s all this expectation and – and…”

“Fear?” Zayn interjects. The Doctor looks at him for a long enough while that Zayn starts to feel a small itch of discomfort. 

“Yes, I suppose that too,” The Doctor answers quietly then averts his eyes. “I read a fair bit of that on your computer. People ascribe a lot of nefarious intent to me.” 

“ _Some_ people” Zayn qualifies. “And that’s only because people need someone or something to blame for all the terrible random shit in the world, and it’s easier to blame it on the bloke standing near it than to ask yourself if he’s the one trying to stop it.” When Zayn finishes he realizes that that’s what he’s always wanted to say to his father about the Doctor and marvels a bit that he’s actually having the chance to say it to the Doctor instead. Harry looks a bit morose. Zayn feels guilty for taking them down this path. 

“Hey, on the bright side, no one knows this face, nor would they even guess that the Doctor could look like an errant schoolboy,” Zayn says, trying to make the Doctor smile at him again. It works. 

“Yeaaaah! That is a pretty good upshot all things considered. Thank you, Zayn,” he says sincerely, placing his large hand on the back of Zayn’s neck and giving it a little squeeze. Zayn keeps noticing the instant intimate chemistry he’s forged with the Doctor, each occurance of touching or lingering stares feels like an exclamation. 

“A name! Yes. Let’s get you a name.” Zayn says loudly. “What's your given na –“ 

“Harry. I want to be called Harry.” On Zayn’s blank look, he continues. “Get it?” He points to his head which is now sporting a rather fetching bun. On the second morning, The Doctor – or Harry, rather – had declared that his hair was unruly and it was getting in his way. Zayn graciously had supplied him with several of his own hair tie. Harry wears the surplus on his wrists like bracelets. 

“Well, Harry, do you want a surname, or will you continue to be a mononym?” Zayn asks giggling. 

“Hmmm, what about Styles?” Harry says with a tiny grin. 

“You do enjoy a good pun, don’t you, Harry?” 

Harry beams at him.

★★★★★★★★★

They watch a lot of programming about the Mars 1 mission being launched the following year. It’s all a bit dry for Zayn, but the Doctor—Harry—is like a primary schooler watching a cartoon marathon. Usually it gives Zayn an hour or two where he can stare at his screen and bang out words he hates as soon as they’re out on the page. After a while, though, Harry will call him over to watch some bit of the program.

“This is mankind’s first, tentative step out into the great beyond. Right here is where the human empire begins. How can you not care?” Harry gets so animated when he talks about human potential. Zayn finds it so endearing he could split in two.

“I do care…I just care more that I have an ever-looming deadline and very little to show for my efforts… Okay, I’ll come over and watch with you for a bit, but by 2 I need to get back to work.” 

“That’s very reasonable,” Harry says evenly before offering a brilliant grin. Nothing seems to make him happier than getting his way. Zayn snickers fondly at him. 

“You are a ridiculous individual, Mr. Harry Styles,” he says, dropping himself heavily on the other end of the couch. 

“I do try,” Harry says. He looks over at Zayn and then at the full person’s width of space between them. A wrinkle appears between his brows. He looks back at the screen and Zayn slides closer to Harry so that his neck is lined up with Harry’s hand as it lies across the back of the sofa. Harry doesn’t say anything but the brow wrinkle disappears and his thumb find’s a new perch on the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn smiles sideways.

 

Harry is very unexpected. Physical descriptions of the Doctor vary, which makes sense for a species that [regenerates into new men](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regeneration_%28Doctor_Who%29) rather than die, but some personality quirks seem to be recurring. Rapid fire speech: Harry’s words slide out of him like honey from a bottle. Sometimes inconsiderate to the point of brusqueness: Harry probes Zayn about his life and work constantly, filled with astute observations and peppering him with copious amounts of compliments all the while. Generally in the company of a pretty female companion: this is the one that has Zayn feeling hesitant and unsure. 

Zayn has known that he wasgay since he was 12 years old, sneaking his father’s Sports Illustrated magazines into his room at night so he and David Beckham could have a little alone time. He was instantly attracted to Harry the moment he stumbled baby deer-like out of the TARDIS. They fell into an easy intimacy within the first few moments, but Zayn knows how uncomfortable straight blokes can be about that kind of thing. Harry is hardly the normal human bloke though. Certainly all his journeys throughout space and time have broadened his horizons, right? Still, Zayn knows that there is a difference between an intellectual acceptance and the visceral knowledge. He also knows how terminally awkward he is in the best of situations and just tries to avoid making the first move with other guys. He could just keep it to himself and wait for it to come up organically. That works usually. 

“I’m gay. Did you know that?” Organic. 

“What, now?” Harry asks distractedly, engrossed in the program. Zayn thinks to just drop it but pushes on anyway. 

“I’m homosexual. I’m attracted to men primarily. I just…” At that moment Harry turns to him and stares. Harry stares a lot actually. It’s unnerving. Zayn thinks it’s because he doesn’t blink enough. It’s an obvious reminder that the person he’s talking to is an alien. “… I just wanted you to know is all. Just so that … you’d know.” Zayn wants to burrow into the couch cushions. Harry stares at him for a few more beats.

“That makes sense,” Harry says finally. He keeps staring. 

“It’s just that some people get weird about … wait what do you mean it ‘makes sense’?” 

“Well you flush a lot when you look at me, your heart it speeds up and your eyes dilate, especially when I’m sunbathing.” 

“You do it in the nude!”

“And also now. You’re doing it right now, all of it,” Harry says. Zayn waits until his next blink to speak again. 

“This conversation is making me feel uncomfortable. That’s probably what you’re seeing.” 

“Why?” The little wrinkle is back in his brow. 

“You touch me. A lot! And you’re really fit! And I just felt like I was keeping something from you by not telling you, but now you know so I guess we can go back to the program.” Zayn turns toward the television again but he’s not registering what is happening on the screen. 

“Oh! I can be so thick!” Harry pauses to smack his own palm against his head. “You’re under the impression that I don’t reciprocate your interest. I do, Zayn Malik. From the very moment I saw you. It’s very mutual,” Harry positively chirps. Zayn does some staring of his own. Harry’s dimpled smile is wide and guileless. 

In that moment, Zayn can continue talking, ask a thousand questions, the whys and what fors and the what ifs. He instead chooses to rise up, slide into the space right beside Harry and fit his body into the crook of his arm.  
“Quiet down, please. We’re missing things,” Zayn says, picking up the remote and increasing the volume. Harry pulls his forearm in and places it along Zayn’s bicep, rubbing it soothingly as they watch television together. After a while he speaks up again. “You know, you’re nothing like I imagined you’d be.” 

“How so?” 

“For one thing, I would have thought someone who leads the life you lead would be climbing the walls to be rid of this place.” 

“Eh, I’m old now. I’ll get back out there, but for right now this is exactly where I want to be,” Harry replies. 

Zayn doesn’t think, he just leans over to Harry, uses his fingertips to turn Harry toward him and leans up for a kiss. Harry leans down closing the distance and pulls Zayn into him even tighter. When they break apart Zayn says, “This is where I want you to be as well.” 

“Good, good.” Harry produces his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, waves it at the television and it pauses.

“Built in DVR too, then?” Zayn laughs. When he looks back at Harry, he’s not laughing. He’s staring. The alien-ness isn’t a problem in that moment, nor the moment after when Harry takes him by the hand and leads him back into the master bedroom, nor any of the moments that follow where they strip each other carefully and spend the balance of the afternoon and evening exploring.

★★★★★★★★★

A chime begins to sound just after the sun rises. Zayn and Harry are a pile of limbs bound together by a fluffy comforter and it startles them both awake.

“What is that?” Zayn croaks. Harry looks over excitedly at his pile of clothes. They manage to decouple with only two knee kicks and Harry nearly falling over once on his way to fish a key out of the pocket of his jeans. 

“Means my TARDIS is ready.” Now Zayn is smiling too. For the past week, the TARDIS had been closed to them, sitting in the corner quietly reconfiguring itself. Now it's ready and Zayn is going to see inside. They rush to get dressed. Harry just pulls up his obscenely tight pants and heads out the door shirtless and barefoot. Zayn follows right behind him, stopping briefly to step into his slippers. 

When they get back into the living room, the light atop the box is throbbing. Zayn understands now what Harry means when he says TARDIS is a living vessel. It’s just more _there_ than it was for the past week, the color sharper, the shape more defined. Harry hurries to open the door and then steps aside to allow Zayn in first. It’s beautiful sprawling out in all directions while still being contained in the little police box that is currently sitting in the living room of Zayn’s cottage. Harry walks past Zayn and approaches the huge spire-like console in the middle. He fiddles a bit with the various nobs and buttons then turns to Zayn. 

“What do you think?” 

“It's sick!” Zayn says, eyes huge taking it all in. 

“Fancy taking her for a spin?” Harry waggles his eyebrows. Zayn jumps up and laughing in elation then responds by bobbing his head up and down frantically.

Harry dances around the console twirling and kicking out his big feet while pulling levers and mashing buttons. 

“Wait, where are we going?! And don’t we need to be dressed first?!” Zayn laughs. 

“There’s a wardrobe in here somewhere. But just to be on the safe side maybe I should take you to the azure sands of the Lwaaxn moon colony. Half the planet is ocean and the other half is land, so the beach literally goes on forever!” 

“That sounds amazing,” Zayn breathes. 

“Aaand we’re off!” Harry calls pulling out the last knob. 

Nothing happens. Harry looks down at the console disgruntled. “Wait, that’s--” He heads down the stairs on the other side of the room. Zayn follows and looks over the banister at him while he fiddles with some wires.  
“Looks like she needs a bit of love and care from her Time Lord.” Harry is already engrossed in the wires and glowing bits ‘under the hood’ as it were. Zayn takes a deep breath and swallows his disappointment. 

“Um, I’ll make us a fry up. Can’t do repairs on an empty stomach,” he offers. 

“Yes! Thank you, Zayn.” Harry calls from beneath him as he starts to head for the door. 

“Oh, and Zayn!” Zayn goes back to the banister and peers over. 

“Yes, Harry?” 

“I promise you I will have you laid naked under the Lwaaxn sun before the day is out.” He winks up at Zayn and Zayn retreats, taking his suddenly red face and neck out of the TARDIS heading toward the kitchen to make good on his offer.  
After breakfast, Zayn brings his laptop into the TARDIS while Harry works on the engines. He makes little frustrated sounds as he nimbly rewires the luminescent tubes that lead up to the main console. 

“This wouldn’t be so hard if I could just park her on a rift and have her suck up all that fuel.”

“Rift in time and space, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Oi! I’m rich, I can have us and the TARDIS airlifted to Cardiff! That’s where the biggest rift is on Earth, yeah?” Zayn shouts. 

“Yep again--though I don’t think any [perception filter](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Doctor_Who_items#P) in the world will hold up after that kind of spectacle, especially since everyone and their pet seems to have some bonkers conspiracy theory about me according to Google. 

“Oh yeah,” Zayn says. “Just tell me if you need me to help.” Harry hums an acknowledgment and they both continue to work beside each other. As the day goes on they chat a bit about odds and ends in their lives. 

“Had a friend Jack once, he was a bit of a time traveler himself. Started off in the 51st century and worked himself forward and backward, used to say the 21st century was when it all changed. Humans making the first pushes off this tiny little planet and saying hello to the universe. Brilliant.” 

“Yeah, in large part cause of you. No official power or government will say you exist but they have all been working really hard, making everyone play nice to launch this joint colony mission. In a way you are our inspiration for seeing what’s out there,” Zayn says.  
“Well, that inspiration certainly goes both ways believe me,” Harry responds. Zayn beams. He never thought simply being a human would be such a source of pride. 

 

They take breaks from writing and rewiring to sunbathe together. Harry tries to coax Zayn out of his basketball shorts but Zayn says that he refuses to “give all the perverted chipmunks and foxes around here a free show.” They listen to music and choreograph routines. They tend to go back to Jesse’s Girl the most. Zayn laughs himself sick watching Harry try to teach him a dance to Ginuwine’s “Pony.” 

“Stop laughing! How are you ever going to learn my enchanting and erotic moves, Zayn?!” Harry asks, placing his hands on his hips and thrusting comically broad. 

Zayn plays soft music by Chaka Khan, Luther Vandross, and Maxwell when they cook meals together. Zayn is gobsmacked that in all his travels and all his years, Harry hasn’t ever learned to make a decent meal. Scandalized, he goes about showing him everything he retained from helping his mother in the kitchen back home. 

After a while the larder empties again and Zayn says he’ll call the market to deliver a duplicate of his last order. Harry insists they go down to the market instead and when Zayn objects on the grounds that the walk is too far, Harry disappears into the TARDIS for several minutes before coming back out with two well preserved 19th Century bikes.

“I won them in a card game. Never been used. Wanna test them out?” 

Having a time traveling alien boyfriend has its perks.

 

It’s a beautiful day, warm but not too hot. The bike handles far more smoothly than Zayn had imagined. They ride side by side. 

“You know, I’ve read all of the books in your cabin and it occurs to me that none of them were by you,” Harry comments. 

“Oh yeah, well I only have the one book. I can call my agent and ask her to send a copy up here. Didn’t even occur to me to pack one. Hell, maybe I can get my talent back through osmosis, strap the damn thing to my forehead or something,” Zayn says with a self-deprecating laugh laced with real anxiety. 

“You’re bloody brilliant, and that’s something coming from me because my mind is absolutely beautiful, so trust me when I say that, Zayn,” Harry remarks in this matter-of-fact tone that puts a smile on Zayn’s face the rest of the ride to the store. They both leave with a bag for each hand and larger ones for both their baskets. Seeing Harry interact with people other than himself is a joy. Zayn wonders how they would react if they knew it was the Doctor smiling at them and bidding them good day, reaching the high shelf to grab the right brand of cereal, or making faces at their infant in a shopping cart. Harry just exudes such goodness. 

When they leave the store they both make note that it smells like rain. Tying their plastic bags shut, they start to peddle quickly down the path. They don’t make it halfway home before the sky bursts open. It’s lovely, though, because the sun is still shining. They lay in a meadow and kiss until the little squall passes.

 

They’re enjoying a lazy afternoon of strip croquet and Zayn has his “White Boys In Their Feelings” playlist going. Zayn had a hunch that it would be just up Harry’s alley, and he’s absolutely right. He gets so excited that he flicks his sonic screwdriver in the direction of Zayn’s iPod deck and announces, “Here, I added some Johnny Cash and the Stones to your playlist!” As Zayn lines up his shot, Harry gently sways his naked hips to “Flowers in the Window” by Travis. A moment later he starts yelling.

“You absolute brigand!” he exclaims as Zayn sends his ball sailing out of its prime scoring position. Zayn roars laughter. “You still have your vest and your shorts on! This game is rigged.” Harry pouts while examining his croquet mallet for imperfections. 

“Hey, this is your croquet set, Mr. Styles. If something’s dodgy about it, that’s on you.” Zayn laughs. “And no one told you to start off in your pants to begin with!” Harry makes a dismissive snorting noise. 

“Helloooooo!” comes a familiar voice from inside the house. Zayn freezes. 

“Harry, stay here,” he whispers then heads back into the house and closes the patio blinds. He meets Caroline in the hallway leading to the living room. 

“Heeeey, Car,” he exclaims, sweeping her in a big hug. 

“Hey Z!” she says, giving him a squeeze then she looks in his face for a beat. “Oh lord, what’s wrong?” 

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? Everything’s fine. Great, in fact,” Zayn says, feeling a bit manic. 

“Zayn, dear, I’m a mummy now. I’m even more able to detect when fuckery is afoot.” She walks past Zayn into the living room. “Aha I knew it!” Zayn groans and follows her. She’s doing exactly as he expected, staring at the TARDIS sitting in the corner. 

“I can explain,” Zayn begins. 

“You don’t have to, little man. I see for myself.” She turns her critical and amused eye over the rather messy living room with its unwashed dishes, Harry’s unfinished tinkering projects, and Zayn’s frequent doodles all coming together to paint a mosaic of aimless faffing about. “You’ve come up here and gone a little weird in the head all alone, and this,” she pauses to flag her hand at the TARDIS, “this is the result of me not taking all but one of your credit cards away. You’re online ordering novelty junk. I have only myself to blame really.” 

“What?” Zayn says confused. 

“This _turdis_ thing isn’t anywhere as good as I’ve seen, Zayn,” she says wrinkling her nose up at it. “And how are you going to get this big ass thing back to London when your vacation out here is over?” she prods. 

“It's-- air lift,” he answers. Caroline sucks her teeth then laughs hugely.

“I know you were worn out. I’m kind of glad you’re taking this time for yourself, love. Just promise me you’ll really try to buckle down when you get back to London in a few months?” she says to him gently, placing her hand on his cheek. 

“I promise, Car,” Zayn replies. “Oh and…I have to tell you something else?” It’s not a question but Zayn goes up high at the end like it is. 

“What’s up?” Zayn knows that Caroline is going to most likely spend the night and he can’t possibly keep her from meeting Harry,but he’s not quite sure how to approach it. 

“Hiiiii!” Zayn closes his eyes and lets his head drop back on his neck. He has just enough moments to pray that Harry had at least put his clothes on before making his presence known. When he turns, he sees that ‘clothes’ are his small grey pants and nothing else. 

“Oh my, who’s your friend?” Caroline stutters. 

“I’m Harry.” Harry waves cutely, then offers his hand for a shake. Zayn just gets out of the way. “I delivered this rubbish novelty junk to Zayn.” He smiles hugely and pats the side of the TARDIS like Loki out of a Norse myth. “He says he got it as a – what was it – ‘conversation starter’.” He pauses to laugh “Well it certainly started a conversation with me as you might imagine. Gave me a pretty big tip too!” 

“Alright, alright!” Zayn reenters the conversation looking to take back his life, which has quickly started unraveling before him. “Why don’t we all have some tea … and some clothes.” He directs a pointed look at Harry’s naked legs and turned-in feet. “Then we can make introductions all proper-like.” Not leaving any of it to chance, he gets behind Harry and physically pushes him ahead to the bedroom while Caroline’s cackling mocks him from the living room the whole time. 

While they get dressed, Harry and Zayn come up with a pretty good cover story for Harry. He lives here in the village and he did deliver the _tartus_ box. He and Zayn hit it off. Harry adds that he’ll say he’s on break from university, where he studies maths, and is making a bit of coin at the local delivery service. 

“That’s very industrious of you, Harry Styles, Cheshire university student,” Zayn compliments. 

“I really try my best,” Harry agrees, completing his look with a smart looking grey suede fedora. 

 

They have a splendid time together and Zayn is happy that his dearest friend gets along so well with someone who is fast becoming an important part of his life. 

The most profound consequence of Caroline’s visit is that Zayn is reminded of his obligations. He knows he could do what she suggested and let go up here in Cheshire, think of it as a getaway with Harry and then buckle down when he gets back home, but that seems unlikely. If he abandons all work ethic now, the chances of him being able to regain it in the endlessly tempting landscape of London aren’t very good. 

Then there is Harry to think about. Eventually he’s going to finish fixing the TARDIS and resume his life of adventure. In fact, Zayn finds it odd that he hasn’t finished his repairs by now and when pressed to do so will often suggest some other activity they can do together instead. Regardless, ‘eventually’ will come sooner than later but Zayn abruptly decides not to think about it and puts his nose to the grindstone and forces himself to write. It pays off, because as his favorite quote about writing says, “habit will sustain you whether your inspired or not.” As far as Zayn is concerned Octavia Butler had it right. Luckily, Zayn’s feelings for Harry inspire him so he has both on his side when he decides to get serious. By month’s end, he has a pretty solid outline for his next novel, a fantasy realistic piece exploring a couple who find themselves dropping away from their stressful lives and meeting in an enchanted wood with no idea why they’re there. 

Zayn is in the living room proper using his beefed up computer to do some research on forensic psychology, the profession of his female protagonist, when he decides to take a bit of a kip on the couch. Harry is in TARDIS working so he briefly thinks about going to get him and declaring it cuddle time. He decides to leave him be; soon enough, Harry will come out of the TARDIS hungry and ready to make supper. Might as well afford him the space to be productive too. 

Zayn smiles as he lays in a twilight stage between sleeping and waking. Harry is touching his face again. It feels good so he hums out a little moan. In the next moment he feels a drop of water fall on his eye then another on his cheek and another on his lip. What is Harry doing? He wakes up the rest of the way. Harry is kneeling over him, fingers lightly running over his face. He’s crying. 

“Harry, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” Zayn sits up, fully awake in record time.

“I came out to find you. I was hungry and… I saw you sleeping here and I’ve never seen anyone more perfect. I think that sometimes. When I look at you. And I thought it again. Then I saw the book – your book. Caroline left it. We’ve been so busy I didn’t read it until just now.” 

“Awww, Harry.” Zayn’s heart feels so tender. “There’s some sad parts in the book for sure, but it all works out in the end!” Zayn is so endeared, he opens his arms to take Harry into a hug but Harry rears back. 

“What are you?” He grits. His face twists into mistrust. Zayn recoils from that look. “Who? … Are you a trap?” Harry’s voice gets thinner with each question. He sounds so confused by the end. 

“Harry, it’s me. Zayn. You know me. I…..I love you.” Zayn’s voice is just as thin and this is the first time hes’ said that. “What’s happened? What’s changed?” 

“The book. There’s no way you could know unless … am I still there? Am I back there? Have I not…” Harry cuts himself off and heads to the patio then opens the door. Zayn follows him warily, hurting. He sees Harry standing in the late afternoon sun pushing the empty space before him like he’s trying to find something with his hands since he can’t trust his eyes. 

“Harry?” 

“No, please. I knew this was too excellent. This was too good. Good. When a good man goes to war. Not good. Goes too far.” Harry is pulling at his hair now. Zayn can’t watch him suffer. He goes up to him and forcefully takes his wrists into his hands. 

“Harry! Talk to me.” Harry is shaking his head no and looking up and away. “Bloody look at me!” He shakes him a little. Harry’s head snaps back to look at Zayn. He’s staring again. Zayn is long use to the staring but this unfocused pleading look is destroying him. Zayn gets really quiet. “Harry, please just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I promise you we can fix it. I’ll fix it, just talk to me, babe,” Zayn whispers. 

“Your book. If you’re real and you’re not a trap why does your book… why does it know? Why does it know about the cell?” Harry asks. 

“What cell, Harry?” Zayn asks confused. 

“The room.” 

“Wait, wait are you talking about Chapter 32? The part where Meryl feels isolated?” 

“I – she thought that the world had forgotten about her. She wanted to die,” Harry says quietly.

“Yes!, yes she was going through a very deep depression Harry. It was just my pretentious swipe at an extended metaphor, putting her in that room. What’s upset you so?” 

“I was her … I was in a room. A cell. I did something. I deserved it,” Harry says. 

“Harry, I want to go back inside. We’re going to talk. I assure you, I’m real. I’m flesh and bone, and…I _do_ love you.” He kisses Harry’s mouth, and takes his jaw into his hand caressing the cheek with slow swipes of his thumb. Harry’s eyes seem to clear the longer they look at each other. He runs his hands up and down Zayn’s sides. 

“You’re real,” Harry finally says relieved but still shaky. Zayn takes Harry gingerly inside.

★★★★★★★★★

They talk while Harry putters about with the TARDIS’s wiring. Zayn suspects it’s more a coping mechanism than a real attempt at repair. Harry starts by talking about how he lost his last companion, Clara, when she got too old and infirm to come away with him. Thanks to traveling in the time vortex for decades, her mind stayed sharp all the way until her last breath.

He wandered around alone for a while, which he tells Zayn generally doesn’t go so well for him. Harry doesn’t take up companions just for the camaraderie; he takes them on because when one has been alive for thousands of years and feels the totality of the universe in every breath, losing sight of the small but essential things tends to happen. 

While he was alone, he found trouble. There was a flotilla of marauders ravaging an entire star system. Harry warned them away but their response was to set a small mining village on fire. Harry’s response was to use the combined power grids of all the colonies and burn the flotilla out of the sky. As he stood regarding the fiery wreckage, feeling pretty good about his efforts, a child’s toy floated by in space. It hit him then: he wasn’t just eliminating an aggressive menace, he had in effect just ended an entire society of people, including their innocent children. 

He immediately submitted himself to the local authorities for trial. He paid for his crimes by being imprisoned in a tower. Generations were born and died off, over and over. He was still in that tower with its one window, tracking the migratory patterns of the local birds and going slightly insane. Finally his body succumbed to the inevitable, the first time he’d ever regenerated from something as mundane as old age. “I was going to repress my regeneration,” Harry tells Zayn. “Just end. But in that last moment I looked over out of the window and there was a kind of bird I’d never seen come past my window and my curiosity made me want to track that species too so I changed my mind. Regenerated right on that dungeon floor.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn says softly, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. “I’m so sorry that things got so bad. I’d say you paid your debt though, don’t you?” Zayn interjects from his place on the floor beside Harry. 

“How does one gauge the debt owed at the loss of a life? What about thirteen hundred and nine? That’s how many lives I took that day,.” Harry asks darkly. 

“What about all of the ones you saved? What about them? Most people don’t do anything dangerous to help others and you’ve made that your life’s mission. Hell, all of your lives! Even those people who were being attacked by the marauders were your saves. How many children did they have that got to grow up because of what you did?” Zayn can tell from Harry’s closed off face he’s not fully hearing him. They sit in silence for a while watching Harry’s deft fingers spider all about the circuitry in the console. 

“How did these people keep you locked up for so long?” Zayn asks, slightly changing the subject. “Generations?” 

“Keep me? … Oh, no I won my trial. They didn’t find me guilty,” Harry replies. 

“What so why did…” Zayn gasps. “You went up to that tower of your own accord then. You exiled yourself!” Harry nods. Zayn is reeling. 

“And every time I thought to come down, thought – as you put it – I had paid my debt, that toy would float by my mind’s eye again and I’d stay right where I was.”

“What made you finally leave?” Zayn asks, fidgeting with a hole in the knee of his sweatpants.

“When I regenerate I really am made new again. I'm still me but I'm also just different enough to look at a situation in a new way.” 

“Ah! New-you understood enough to know spending a millennia moping was the coward’s way out and if atonement is the plan, you have to do your best every day?” Zayn says it as a question but they both know it isn’t one. Harry stares at him for a bit. Zayn refuses to back down. Harry’s inscrutable look finally gives way to a sideways grin.

“Maybe,” Harry relents. 

“Alhamdulillah!” Zayn says, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“You know, judging by your own experiences with my brand of help, I’m surprised you’re so quick to throw caution to the wind.”

“What happened to Mr. Finch was a tragedy but it wasn’t caused by you. It’s because of you more people didn’t get hurt. If my father knew--” Zayn cuts himself off. “I’m going to make my father understand. This world and so many others need you, Harry.”  
Harry nods at him. Zayn thinks that maybe he’s getting through. They sit in silence for a bit. Their tea has gone cold, but he still sips it anyway. 

“Huh.” Harry says after a few moments then drops his hands onto his thighs “You clever, clever girl.” Harry says wagging his finger at the console. Zayn sends an inquiring look Harry's way. “This circuit, Zayn, can you see it?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies.

“It wasn’t here before this moment…I thought I was ready to pick up and take off but she knew.”

“The TARDIS?” Zayn asks tentatively. 

“Yes, my TARDIS. Such a clever lass.” He says stroking the support beam beside him. Zayn knew the ship was sentient but had no idea it could be this willful. 

“Do you want me to leave you two alone, Harry?” Zayn asks going for levity. 

“I think…you were right. I was running away. And I haven’t quite stopped yet…”

“Harry?”

“No, that was just a form of moping, as you put it. I’m not Harry Styles. He never existed, not really. I’m the Doctor.” With that, the Doctor connects one last wire and the TARDIS hums to life.

 

The landscape of their relationship had changed. Zayn knows this immediately. Har – _the Doctor_ can leave at any time and never come back. He can invite Zayn to come away with him, two equally devastating prospects in very different ways. But all the Doctor says is that they should go into the house and cook a meal. He’s starved.

“Is any of what you told me the reason why you crashed here?” Zayn asks as he slices the lamb for the curry he’s making.

“Kind of,” the Doctor begins, chopping carrots for the salad. “I didn't come directly here. I tried to resume my life of travel. I went to the Indigo Bazaar at Rixus Prime. Attracts seventy-five thousand revelers from hundreds of species. I stepped out into the throng and it was like nothing I’d ever felt before, like everything was closing in on me.”

“Sounds like agoraphobia,” Zayn remarks.

“Yeah.” The Doctor smiles ruefully. “My version of it anyway,” he concludes.“So thats when I went to the monks.”

“The magical tattoo monks you told me about that first night,” Zayn says. 

“Yes, but that was too isolating. It was almost worse than being in the tower. I was surrounded by people but they weren’t aloud to touch, there was no connection. I was so confused. I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he recalls.

“So that’s why you made the flight error?” 

“I just didn’t know where to go, so I opened up the psychic navigation unit, but I wasn't in any state to think clearly. All I had was one word and I clung to it like a life preserver.”

“What was it?” Zayn has stopped preparing the food altogether. Harry looks over and smiles his first genuine smile of the day. 

"Home." Zayn smiles too. “It’s no surprise that the TARDIS interpreted my request as 21st century Earth. For someone like me, home isn’t a place. It can’t be. It’s the people who make me feel like I’m at my best. The best people I’ve ever met are in this place and in this time. That’s up to and including you,” the Doctor concludes. 

The Doctor tells him he thinks that Zayn’s connection with Clive and Clive’s connection with Rose is why the TARDIS was able to find him and see the compatability. “I told you she’s brilliant,” the Doctor says, looking fondly toward the living room. 

They don’t go anywhere right away. Zayn has a lot to digest and the Doctor explains that while in the past he’s just whisked his companions away, he wants to ease Zayn into life aboard the TARDIS.  
Zayn’s mind is alight with ideas about loss and regret and atonement. He writes day and night and produces a first draft of his novel in record time. He doesn’t use any elements of the Doctor’s life, but the themes resonate with him all the same.

“You certainly know how to turn a phrase,” Harry says wiping his eyes when he reads it.

“And your super speed reading never gets any less creepy, I’ll have you know,” Zayn says, deflecting the compliment. 

They celebrate his achievement with a bottle of Zayn’s favorite wine on the endless beach of Lwaaxn moon colony. They make love on the beach that night, their bodies lit by bioluminescent algae riding on the waves that lap delicately at the shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Thanks to my beta!


	4. Epilogue

It’s their final week at the cottage. Zayn is listening to some Parliament and Funkadelic while he packs when the Doctor comes in with a pinched look on his face and turns the music down.

“Remember yesterday when we were watching the news and the presenter announced that they were ahead of schedule in launching the communication’s satellite for the Mars-1? And they were planning to go in a week?” Zayn nods, tying some socks together. “Then I said _’WHAT’_ and you said _’Huh?’_ and I said _‘It’s nothing don't worry.’_?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replies.

“Well, it's something and you should be worried.” 

“Pardon?”

“The launch date. July 8th 2018 is a fixed point, and so is the September 21st 2024 date for the first human colonists to go up in the modules. These dates can't be changed. So the question is: who's trying to change them?” 

“How do you know this?” Zayn asks. 

The Doctor points to his head and simply says, “The totality of time and space, Zayn.” Then he starts pacing.

“So do we go and find out what’s going on then?” Zayn asks. A smile breaks out across the Doctor’s face.

“You said ‘we.’”

“Well--I just thought… I guess you never formally offered but I thought you might want--”

“Yes! I do want that very much please and thank you,” the Doctor says, his eyes twinkling happily as he takes Zayn into his arms and beams down at him.

“Will it be dangerous?” Zayn asks.

“Nah!…Well, maybe. Probably.” The Doctor takes Zayn’s face into both his large hands and speaks directly into his eyes. “Look, I promise you no matter what we encounter over there I will make sure you're alright.”

“I can take care of myself, Harry—err, Doctor,” Zayn asserts stepping out of his embrace a little, not knowing if that statement is based in any truth but feeling like he should say so as grown damn man.

Later, after they put on their shoes and head into the TARDIS Harry tells Zayn he can still call him Harry in private.

“That's a weird pet name, innit?” Zayn laughs.

“No more than well-established ones. Cuddle bottom, marmalade lips. Sugar bonnet.” Between each name, the Doctor flips a switch on the console with a flourish.

“Those last 2 aren't real at all,” Zayn says, folding his forearms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, I have you know there are many sizable planets where those are quite common!” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Enough of that, are you ready to right your planet’s destiny and secure its galactic future, Zayn Malik?” 

“Caroline is going to have my guts for garters.”

“Eh, I’ll have you back by supper.”

“Well, when you put it that way, yes. I’m ready, Doctor Harry Styles.” The Doctor beams at him again. 

“Well, then, grab ahold of something!” Zayn sidles right up to him and puts his arms around him. 

“And we’re off!” the Doctor says pulling the last lever and falling into Zayn over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to my beta and the exchange organizer!


End file.
